Best Timers Poems
Don’t you remember, love, how we danced that first night;
beneath the sun’s rays, toes dipping in the cooling sand,
to the tune of our favorite song –
with me humming the best I could –
(I sounded terrible, but you told me I sounded divine, remember?)
while falling all over myself, and your delicate feet;
and you, trying so hard not to laugh as I made such a fool of myself!
Did you ever think we would go
from being love-sick teenagers dancing on the beach,
to a couple of old-timers reminiscing
about our best years – our long ago days together?
Honey?
Sweetheart, please…
If there is any part of that teenage girl
left within that beautiful head of yours…please;
please, just look in my eyes as you once did…
look at me, sweetheart…
Don’t you remember?
My love, do you hear?
They’re playing our favorite song…
*Inspired by Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest
I really hope I did this right! :)
Categories:
timers, confusion, devotion, health, husband,
Form:
Narrative
On the streets of sin city, on the high roller's main drag,
Known as the Las Vegas Strip, a gentlemen phantom
Does stroll dressed in all black attire, striding forth with his golden Cain,
Flipping a silver chip into the air, and mocking at its power.
The devil's agent of deception is he, retaining a list of names
To collect upon, this gentlemen bandit of the forsaken.
He is here on the dark master’s behalf, ready to claim on
The I.O.U's signed by the greedy, and innocence fallen.
Quietly, moving amongst the crowded venues, he waits
Until his lord calls the name of the unlucky, to be reposed.
Dance do the neon lights, flashing towards pleasure dens of iniquity,
As ladies whom belong unto the night itself, offer their
Tokens of favor, for a working man's paycheck.
Black jacks twenty-one, cut those cards, and pass them out
The first timers dumb luck, will deliver him unto evil,
On this walkers dead man's list tonight.
Against the loaded dice, no soul is left unsanctified,
On the sacred green velvet altar, the wheel of fortune
Spins out of control, then hitting the baccarat tables
Wooden wall, someone screams snake eyes.
Then all is lost, faded are the dreams of illusion, melting away
Into the harsh desert soil, along the road side leading to sin city.
Beneath the arid sandy duns, lies the grave yard
Of the unknown unidentified, a missing persons
Smorgasbord of the rich and infamous, lying right
Beside, the unreported poor man corpse.
This is the Grim Reapers play ground, taunting
And tormenting, those begging for redemptions
Last chance to gain a reprieves pardon.
But when tapped by his golden cain of death,
Your life's essence has wagered it's last bet,
To the winner goes the spoils, and now you
Belong unto the devil.
People say what happens in Vegas stays
There, and rightly so will he agree, with his blackened
Heart and soul, for after all is this not
The capital of hell on earth, known as
Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada.
The populations of the undead just added
Another’s names tally and the gentlemen
Dressed all in black, is sent a wandering
Again amongst the crowed streets, to claim
Another victim in the dark master’s wrath of
Vengeance.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
timers, adventure, america, evil, halloween,
Form:
Free verse
They come from a different era
where patriotism is a just cause
they would fight for the true blue
never mind who was right or wrong
they stood staunch and egos proud
their chest out, backs straight and chins up
they come from an old style of thinking
I fight today as my father and grandfather did too.
fighting for an eye for an eye tooth for a tooth
I will die to serve my country even if its a lie
if you try to invade our land
we will come and conquer you
we are defenders of the truth
but the old timers forget
and the young ones have a narrow point of view
there was a time when the immigrants were Irish, Italians and jews
racism was rampant and that hasn't changed
Christians today still preach
'Jesus is savior they say repent your evil ways
pushing their rhetoric just like the roman empire did
amazingly America seems to be doing the same
history seems to repeat itself time and time again
war, religion, oil and what we perceive as freedom
we invade again and again and call it defending democracy
yet the intelligence comes from spies and other governments
because they have shared interests in different types of policy
they all carefully choose their words
because one slip of the lip could trigger war as it has happened before
todays war on terrorism is a campaign designed to instill pain
and un-trust to drain our resources from us
And our leader claimed up front this is not a religious war
yet he paraphrases from the bible we'll get those evil doers
you see bush fooled our religious leaders too.
he used their belief in Jesus he tricked 'em all just to get their vote
he claims he's a born again Christian and this Christians embraced him holly
but then one day bush spoke to Jesus and asked what to do with Iraq
Jesus responded Invade that country
Now dont get me wrong Jesus was not about war
he taught of peace, love and compassion
however his message has been twisted and turned over time
and history shows the hands of Christian religious leaders are always bloody
because they twist the truth to control dictatorship is always the goal
Bush had been plaining war before a judge handed him the seat
on his first day he signed a bill into law prevent any criminal charges against him
Categories:
timers, angst, death, history, war,
Form:
Free verse
The Cider Gum (Eucalyptus Gunnii)
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
The full Moon ablaze in the night sky
Beams down on the dead and dying Cider Gums
Their ghostly silhouettes, so white and stark
Now just a reminder of the past
…
The Central Plateau, the High Country of Tasmania
Is or was home to these magnificent trees
Now there bleached skeletons tell the story
That the environment in which they flourished has changed
…
Grazed extensively by native and domestic animals
Used by the aboriginals, settlers and trappers
The Cider Gum leaf, was used to make cider
And the sweet scent used to freshen homes
…
Eucalypts Gunnii (Cider Gum) unique to Tasmania
Once so prevalent and used in a variety of ways
Now standing forlorn, dead and slowly dying
Their limbs and branches bleached white by the sun
…
Many attempts have been made to re-introduce the gums
But the changing environment and pressure from the wildlife
Has meant that the Cider Gum is facing a loosing battle
For the seasons have changed, not enough rainfall and hot summers
And the snow no longer on the ground for weeks on end
…
Such a unique and magnificent shade tree, stepped in history
Will soon be a distant memory and extinct
Will be left to the old timers to tell about the Cider Gums
For I have doubts that mother nature can revitalize Eucalyptus Gunnii
Categories:
timers, absence, culture, environment,
Form:
Free verse
Fair-weather friends on a cloudy day
Dank, useless phrases paving the way;
Medication, digestion, unhappy sounds.
Like, un-like television and geriatric frowns.
Dinner's fish;
Breakfast can walk.
Lunch gets me moving
And old-timers talk.
Dating, relating, I'm getting a visit.
Could be important. It's one of my children.
Board games again. Television's on.
People get tired and the clock's moving 'round.
A new Senior's here and making a fuss.
We get scared too and he's looking at us.
I'm snoozing right now and my friend's playing Chess.
They'll get here quite soon, it's about time to visit.
They need my advice and to show some respect.
The clock's moving 'round and they'll be here soon.
Categories:
timers, age, caregiving, courage, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
Two old timers sharing a good laugh
While reminiscing on yesterdays
As they split old stories in half
Some stories are blurred and remain in the grays
You may find them on the park bench no matter the clime
Exchanging stories and sharing a laugh
Repeating the same ones from time to time
And splitting old jokes in half
4-13-19
Free Verse Or Rhyme Contest
Photo 2
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Categories:
timers, age, life, people,
Form:
Rhyme
Remembering Mrs. Sully always makes my face break out into smiling mode.
Her face was as craggy as a grave, there was an aluminum tooth on the left.
When she smiled, it gleamed with pure happiness, making her stories even better.
When I first met her, her ferocious stories kept my gentle side terrified, for hours.
I thought she was the Hansel and Gretel witch, because she looked like my vision of her.
There was a unique smell around Mrs. Sully, an earthy, vegetable-type smell.
She was always in her garden, killing snakes, big black ones, with large mouths.
She relished showing us how she whacked them with her hoe, hacking them to pieces.
Although short, stooped over and old, she was a force no snake wanted to encounter.
Her stories were full of spit and vim, anger, and devilishly mean murders and such.
If you decided to share a story, she did not hear it, she did not pause if you wanted to talk.
You had to walk along beside her, acting like wearing two or three house dresses
over each other under a pair of overalls was normal, seeing the bibs and lace stick out like crazy.
Her expertise was incessant talking, not waiting for social cues or societal nonsense like that.
She knew about all the hangings that had ever happened in the county, and relished telling
About them in full-force detail, hoping to keep us on our toes, ripe with worry.
All you have to do is mention the words Mrs. Sully, and the old-timers smile, remembering
Those awful hangings, and what happened after the rope was yanked, because we all knew.
Sometimes I swear I see her in her old black hat, pulled down nearly to her eyes,
Stooped carriage, pushing a rusty brown wheelbarrow full of produce, from one farm to another.
We were lucky, our house was smack in the middle, so we would run out and hear the tale of the day.
She owned two properties, a block and a half from each other, one of them had goats.
If we were really lucky, she would have one of her mean goats on a little leash and we could walk our block with it, as it butted us with its angry head.
Rumors said the goats slept in the house with her. It did not matter to me, she was a character
I will never forget her, sometimes picturing that amazing aluminum tooth, which told excellent
Stories. Stories I do not dare tell my own sweet grandchildren, as they stay up too late already.
Categories:
timers, character, hilarious,
Form:
Free verse
A park has been making the news
Because people have differing views.
Those who live very near
Wish that all would adhere
To the rules and stop breaking taboos.
But a younger crowd’s recently found
They could party with no cops around
So they flock to this park,
Even more after dark,
Where their music and motors resound.
Since the park is a public-fed place
The old-timers would always embrace
People spending the day
In the usual way,
Not the mob that’s become a disgrace.
So it’s time for the city to act
When, at night, the park’s overly packed,
For the drugs and the noise
And the crowding annoys
Every neighbor who’s feeling attacked.
What to do when the young and the old
Find their values so often controlled
By the difference in years
Which, quite strangely, appears
To have neither side feeling consoled?
Categories:
timers, new york, perspective,
Form:
Limerick
words entwine
Words bounce round inside me head,
an rhyme an rattle till I’ve said,
old timers say “ gawd strike me dead,”
but words just keep a coming,
I try a sleeping in me bed ,
Me skull does rattle, words get fed ,
Out of bed for sleepy head ,
At 2am computer, dreads,
But I keep on typing,
Some poet feeds me, words n rhyme,
I can’t be sleeping at the time,
Comes the inspiration line,
Schizophrenic words entwine:)
Some boring, some exciting…
Pieces Of Paper...A Poet's Heart
Sponsored by: Carol Brown
Don Johnson
Categories:
timers, adventure, words, me, me,
Form:
Rhyme
There often is found, in many little towns,
A place where old-timers still gather around.
Not only old-timers, but “youngsters”, as well,
Especially on Sundays, they “stay for a spell.”
Some would argue, and say to you,
It’s because there’s nothing else to do.
This may satisfy a question in their mind,
I think, however, another reason you’ll find.
It’s here that folks have gathered, for years,
To sing, to worship, even shed a few tears.
It is here they sometimes bury their dead,
It is here they consistently hear the Word read.
It’s at this place, though rare to find,
People find solace and peace of mind.
It is here that the Bible is still believed,
And its message is, without doubt, received.
There often is found, in many little towns,
A place where old-timers still gather around.
Not only old-timers, but “youngsters”, as well,
Especially on Sundays, they “stay for a spell.”
Some would argue, and say to you,
It’s because there’s nothing else to do.
This may satisfy a question in their mind,
I think, however, another reason you’ll find.
It’s here that folks have gathered, for years,
To sing, to worship, even shed a few tears.
It is here they sometimes bury their dead,
It is here they consistently hear the Word read.
It’s at this place, though rare to find,
People find solace and peace of mind.
It is here that the Bible is still believed,
And its message is, without doubt, received.
Categories:
timers, inspirational, bible, peace, bible,
Form:
Rhyme
Simultaneous the sting,
Those who two-time on the wing.
Each at fault began the fling.
Subterfuge, a complex thing.
Schedules smeared and rearranged.
Missing gaps in time explained.
Lies to memorize, maintain.
Learn the lying details game.
Shelf life of adultery
Locked away for none to see.
Those who trusted while deceived,
Hold, and rightly so, the key.
Gene Bourne.
06-26-14
Categories:
timers, angst, betrayal, character, corruption,
Form:
Didactic
No one seemed to take much note at first.
Old-timers on park benches passed a comment or two,
Somebody wrote a letter to the local rag,
but no one (who mattered, that is)
really seemed to mind.
Of course, you will always have
your bellyachers and woolly romantics
with nothing better to do than whine
about the way things are going, -
the loss of bird life, the silenced dawn chorus,
the vanishing English hedgerow,
you know the sort of thing.
The leaves began falling long before autumn.
"Funny," they said, "curious," "that's one for the book."
This was all very interesting for botanists,
environmentalists, chemists and the like.
Such words as "pollution," "soil erosion"
and "deprivation" were bandied about,
but no one was much the wiser though
the experts were agreed on one point.
"Photosynthesis provides the basis of all life."
This was interesting but nothing like
as interesting as the favourite for Ascot,
the football results, the Top of the Pops,
the late night thriller or the FT index.
All that changed.
Foresters and timber merchants became concerned
about the decaying cores of many trees.
The government became concerned, too,
(not so much about the fate of the trees as such
as about the effect the scarcity of wood
was having on the paper industry and inflation).
Then the doom-watchers caught the scent
and there was talk of an imminent ecological collapse,
but the man in the street still
passed it all off as the usual load of rot.
Then Kew Gardens, Epping Forest, Central Park,
the Everglades and the Bois de Boulogne
went the way of all wood.
A tramp, locally known as Nat the Nut,
was found in the village cemetery gibbering,
Before being bundled into an ambulance,
he was heard to say:
"With these very ears I heard 'em groan,
and this is what one of 'em said:
'Tonight we are dying, yew and I,
and the morrow sees us dead.'
And the willows wept in the valleys
and the trees on the hills pined away."
When the harvest failed,
the church bells tolled
for a woe no man could gainsay,
for none doubted then the trees were lost
or held it was only they.
Categories:
timers, angst, autumn, humanity,
Form:
Elegy
I Salute the Veterans
By Franklin Price
11/8/2015
I salute the veterans
My hand is to my brow
Standing at attention
I recognize us now
My brothers and my sisters
Short timers, lifers, all
I commend us for our service
When our country came to call
We answered to our nation
To protect an oath we gave
All of us gave something
Some gave all unto the grave
Categories:
timers, military, veterans day,
Form:
Rhyme
Boricuuuaaaaaaa pa que lo
sepa. White rice and beans on
the dinner plate got yelled at
by your mom for being 10
minutes late . el coqui you hear
at night the coquito you drink
during Christmas time . Los
timbales hasta La conga musics
in our blood el ritmo nos
Levanta. Familia Es todo and
when times are rough we count
on each other . From el morro
to el yunce Los boricuas
sabemos hacer arroz con dulce
.frankie Ruiz to Marc Anthony
all these salseros will go down
in history .the beautiful
beaches in San Juan sipping on
that Puerto Rican rum ,
dominoe games with the old
timers yelling CAPICU ahora
ganas tu. Puerto Rico se llama
la isla del encanto y cuando
muere alguien rezamos a
nuestro santo. La mujeres son
bella y los hombres son guapo.
El orgullo de ser boricua. No es
tu nacionalidad tipica. Sabemos
cocinar y bailar hasta la muerte
será boricua
Categories:
timers, people
Form:
ABC
Yesterday, I happened upon a quaint, old-time country store.
I felt I was reliving my youth as I trod its squeaky wooden floor!
The sights and smells were familiar when I entered the door.
Memories flooded my soul as I gazed upon those things of yore!
A glowing pot-bellied stove provided an inviting place to sit and chat.
Upon a barrel of cheese snoozed an inscrutable tabby cat.
Old-timers were playing checkers hunkered over a pickle barrel.
'Mongst the clutter of merchandise you browsed at your peril!
Suspended from rafters were horse collars, lanterns and milking pails.
Boots, overalls and cured hams were hung with ten-penny nails.
Silverware and pocket watches were displayed in sturdy oak cases,
And others held buttons, thread, needles and rolls of fancy laces.
There were boxes of cigars, Mail Pouch tobacco and various tools,
Straw hats, aprons, bonnets, corsets and rolls of colorful tulles.
Stacked on shelves were galluses, overshoes and boys' caps,
Crockery, umbrellas, mantel clocks and several muskrat traps.
One wall was lined with churns, cream separators and kerosene stoves.
Wafting about the place was the pleasing scent of cinnamon and cloves.
There were bins of onions, taters, carrots and fresh roasting ears.
I sat by the stove a spell to absorb the flavor of yesteryears!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
timers, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme